Dernière Journée en Mer
by Twinnie
Summary: AUFuture fic. Vaughn's sister, cleaning out Vaughn's flat after her brother's death. Angsty thing. Cameo appearances by Sydney and Jack, strong allusions to SV.


Dernière journée en mer

Summary: AU/Future fic. Vaughn's sister, cleaning out Vaughn's flat after her brother's death. Angsty thing. Cameo appearances by Sydney and Jack, strong allusions to S/V.

Spoilers: Post Phase One. Some allusions to a few episodes, but nothing spoilerish.

A/N: I'm not sure where this comes from… I have been sick all week, and this fic is what came out when the fever subsided. Vaughn's sister may seem weird at some points in this fic, but it's just because she's feeling lost. Well, anyway, sorry if it sucks *shrug*

The title is taken from a beautiful song by Matmatah. Some of the feelings of the woman in the fic are similar to those of the fisherman in the song. 

I don't understand my brother. Why he's chosen the job that killed our father. Why he'd always keep so much of his life a secret. Why his eyes remained serious when he'd say his having or not a girlfriend was 'need to know only intel'.

Now, I know.

My hand hovers over the clothes in my brother's closet, but can't seem to rest anywhere. After a while, I just put it back into my pocket.

I thought I could do it, but it's too early. I close the door and walk back into the living-room.

I don't even know my own brother's lover's name. 

I think I know who it is. There was this woman, Monday morning; she looked shattered. That's all I remember about her. Maybe I'd recognize her in the streets, maybe not.

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

I think I know how they met. She was standing with _them_. The collegues. And they all looked like they wanted to protect her. My mother would get crazy. She always wanted him to have a normal family to go back to. And he always humored her.

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

I think they all touched her hand when they left. As if she were the widow.

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

Maybe in a way, she was.

The phone rings five times, and Michael's voice answers. _'Hello, you've reached the number you've dialed. Please, let a message. Je suis pas là, mais laissez un message, merci!'_

The person on the other end of the phone hangs up after the beep. 

I'd always let him a message in French. After our father died, we spent two years in France. Michael and I took the habit of speaking French then, and we kept speaking French together when we moved back to the States. It's funny, how someone's voice is different when they speak another language. 

Does she speak more that one language, too ?

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

I'm obsessed by that woman. I wonder why.

I'm in my brother's flat, thinking in English. I wonder why, too. 

I know. French is familiar, French is soothing. French is the language of family. But this place, right now… feels like the place of a stranger.

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

I don't even know if he was in love with her. I don't know how long they've known each other, why Maman and I have never met her, why Michael has never even told us about her. I can hear Michael's voice laughing in my ears. _'_That_ is need to know only!'_ I'll never hear his laughter again.

The phone rings again. Again, no message. I want to grab the machine and throw it against the wall, do something that will free my brother's voice. I could erase the tape. Burn it, to make sure none of his CIA friends can use some gadget to bring his voice back. I don't want this tape to be the last of his voice I'll hear. It's mechanical, it's impersonal, it's not him.

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

Or maybe it is. After all, I don't know him that much. _Didn't_ know him that much. God, I'd never have thought it would be so hard.

Maybe cleaning up the kitchen will be less hard. Or maybe it'd be less hard if Charlotte was here too. 

I hesitate over the phone, then I take my cell phone and quickly dial my cousin's number. Say hi to her husband, say hi to her, tell her where I am, what I am doing, ask her if she can come. She asks if it's not too early. I answer the kitchen probably can't wait. 

Michael was like her brother, too. Charlotte was a single child, we spent most of our week-ends together as kids. Aunt Trish was always a bit weird, but Uncle George was great. When we came over, he'd bring us to the park or to the ice-rink.

I think of the ice-skates, pucks and hockey stick in the cupboard. I wonder who we'll give those to.

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

The phone rings again. It might be Charlotte, so I answer. A woman's voice asks if this is some pizza place. I say it's a wrong number.

Pizza. Kitchen. I need to clean up the kitchen.

I stand up and walk over to where the trash can is. It's empty but for a new plastic bag. He must have known he'd be gone for some time. I turn towards the fridge and pause, wondering what I'll find in there. If it'll be empty, too. For some reason, I don't think I could stand it. It would be as if all traces of his presence had been erased already. Just if his fridge was empty.

I realize this is what I've called Charlotte for. We'll do those things I don't want to do, talking about him. That way, he won't be completely gone. 

Michael's never liked Charlotte's husband. Charlotte's husband has never liked Michael, either. I think that what upset Rick the more with Michael's death, is that he's had national funerals. Charlotte and Richard didn't even know he was CIA before. I can definitely see why he didn't want Richard to know.

I don't see why he didn't want us to know about her.

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

Charlotte's knock on the door finds me facing the fridge. I open and we hug. I wish Charlotte spoke French, too. I feel like speaking French now.

She asks me what I've been doing and I answer I've been staring at the fridge. She laughs, there are tears in her eyes. I look away. If she cries, I'll cry, and I don't want to cry here. Michael has never seen me cry, not since Dad's death, at least. I don't want to cry here.

Charlotte suggests we start with the freezer, and I agree. We find a couple of frozen pizzas, some unnaturally colored vegetables, and ice-cream. Two flavors: vanilla, and chocolate. Michael has always hated chocolate-flavored ice-cream.

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

Charlotte has noticed, too. She stares at me, upset. I tell her that's something he didn't tell Maman and me.

I crumble to the ground and tell her I don't even know my own brother's lover's name.

Her face doesn't falter and she asks me how long he's been CIA.

I answer he didn't tell her because of Rick. 

She asks if Alice knew.

I answer she didn't. And I realize she thinks the other ice-cream was for Alice. That they had gotten back together again.

I can't help it. I need answers. I get up, stride over to the bedroom, and open the nightstand drawer.

Charlotte closes the freezer and follows me, concerned. I'm staring at the gun, the first thing I've found. No surprise here. 

I'm expecting condoms, but there are none. They are past this stage. Were. There are two pencils, a notebook, pills against headaches, a chocolate bar and an angel figurine. No photos. No clue. Nothing. 

Charlotte puts a soothing hand on my shoulder and asks me what I am looking for. I am about to answer when I realize someone has painted the angel's eyes green. I pick it up and watch it carefully, but the eyes are all there's to see. I show them to Charlotte. She puts a trembling finger on a golden wing and says she feels like we're intruding into his life. I tell her I need answers.

I grab the notebook, and this time, I'm not disappointed. The first few pages are full of meaningless names and numbers, but then, another handwriting joins my brother's into silly games. Tic tac toe, battleships, hangman. Short phrases guessed more or less easily, with clues only them understood written underneath. Trattoria di Nardi (_sewers_), Blood-mobile (_forthright or female_), Train-station (_hide and seek_), Grasshopper (_Phil_), Kendall is an ass (_the art of stating the obvious_), You give wonderful massages (_your dad is going to kill me for that one_), Emasculate (_that would be a shame_). 

A series of numbers under the word 'amour'. Something French teenage girls do, that supposedly gives you the percentage of chances you have to end up being in love with someone. _2 1 1 1 1, 3 2 2 2, 5 4 4, 98_. 

__

SB, a heart, _98% MV._

__

MV, a crossed out heart, _2% SB (non appreciation of non-humorous jokes, over-appreciation of the Zamboni)_

I feel like I'm intruding, too. But at least I know her initials.

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

I leave everything on the comforter and walk towards the phone, looking for the index notebook. But I can't find anything useful. Not under B, not under S. On the directory of his cell-phone, maybe? I sigh irritably. The CIA has that one. I drop the notebook on the table, frustrated.

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

Charlotte is watching me from the door. She looks hagard. I tell her that they won't tell us how he died, so I want to figure out how he lived.

She tells me to stop.

I tell her I can't. That I don't even know my brother's lover's name. That I didn't even know if he had a lover before I found some woman's clothes inside of his closet. That I need to know, I need to understand him, I won't move on if I don't understand him.

She tells me I'm not supposed to move on yet.

My mom was devastated when my father died. I remember one night. Michael had woken me up and pulled me towards Maman's room. She was crying, calling '_William, William, William, William_' over and over again. We had crawled into bed with her and hugged her, telling her that we were there, that we'd always be there for her. 

And now, Michael is gone. He broke his promise. He's left Maman, he's left me and the kids and Charlotte and his friends…

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

He's left her, that unnamed woman, staring at his grave as if she wanted to dive in after him.

If my husband died, and we had no children, I don't think I'd want to live anymore.

I realize suddendly that I've left Charlotte, and Michael's flat. I'm at the cemetery. All those white crosses, they sicken me. I don't know why I'm here, I can't remember how I got here, and I see it before my eyes, over and over again, the flag the man gave to my mom and the sympathetic smile he gave to the woman. I don't understand why he didn't tell us, I don't understand him, I don't understand why he had to join the CIA, why he had to keep hiding things, why he had to die. It's just not fair.

A man stops at Michael's grave a few moments before I reach it. I can see his broad back, his grayish hair, his dark suit. I want to tell him to leave, that he's killed my brother. Instead, I stop, and listen to what he says.

__

"I don't think I've ever taken the time to thank you, for what you did for my daughter. For taking care of her. I am not one to talk to graves, Mr Vaughn, so I hope you appreciate the gesture. Also, I wanted to thank you, for not taking her for her mother. It meant a lot to her. You_ meant a lot to her." _

A pause.

"I didn't know how to help her when Danny died, and I am still clueless, so if you have any idea…"

He puts his hands deep into his pockets. He looks like he's about to leave, but he talks again.

__

"You should have made a baby with her, Michael."

He nods at the grave in a strange salute, and walks away. 

I think he's got answers. I should follow him. But I can only stare at my brother's grave.

__

1968-2004.

I wonder when she was born.

I wonder if she'll come here often.

I wonder why Michael knew her father, and we didn't know about her.

I wonder when she'll move on.

I wonder who she is.

She's the key to Michael's life. The one person that must have understood him. The one person that'll help me understand him. My last link to my dead brother.

__

I don't even know my brother's lover's name.

I wonder if she knows how he's died.

FIN-


End file.
